


Breaking Point

by Skrigget



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Pack Feels, Past Character Death, Russian Roulette, Sexual Content, Stiles Has Nightmares, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skrigget/pseuds/Skrigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and the rest of the pack is kidnapped and Stiles is forced to play a game of Russian Roulette that nearly kills him. Afterwards, Stiles has horrible nightmares, Isaac is nothing but confusing. They have to learn how to deal with things and try to be okay together. It's not that easy. </p><p>--</p><p>“Stiles,” his father interrupts him sharply. “I’m worried about you. Not because of Lahey. Well, maybe also a little because of the Lahey kid but mostly because you are not okay.”</p><p>“I have been through so much worse! Erica, Boyd. The nogitsune and Allison. This is nothing compared to that, dad, I’m fine.” Stiles sobs once. “I have to be.” </p><p>“Son,” the sheriff whispers. “We all have a breaking point.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

He kisses him hard, his teeth scraping Isaac’s lip. He wants to make the werewolf whimper out in pain, but Isaac remains silent except for the heavy panting and occasionally low moans, coming from the depths of his throat.

Stiles throws his head back and it hits the wall behind him hard but he doesn’t care. Isaac thrusts into him, his fingers bruising Stiles’ hips, his nails digging into and almost breaking the human’s fragile skin. Stiles is grabbing onto Isaac’s shoulders desperately, one leg wrapped around the taller boy’s torso. His back rubs against the wall behind him and Stiles is almost positive he’ll have a burn but he doesn’t care.

He moans loudly and almost sobs when Isaac wraps a hand around his dick. It only takes a few more thrusts and then Stiles comes with a shudder and a loud moan, silenced against Isaac’s shoulder. A few thrusts later and Isaac comes inside him, hard, and for a moment Stiles is positive they will collapse on the floor together. Isaac, however, manages to stay up. He braces himself with one hand on the wall that Stiles is leaning against, panting heavily and with his eyes closed. Stiles slowly unwraps his leg. Isaac pulls outside him, Stiles winces, Isaac takes a step back.

They’re sweaty, sucking in air desperately. Stiles leans against the wall and closes his eyes. He hears Isaac take a few more steps back, he hears him grab his clothes and put it on. He opens his eyes as the werewolf opens the bedroom window.

“You could stay,” he hears himself saying. “Just for one night, it –“

“Goodnight,” Isaac says and turns towards Stiles. He smirks but it seems cold, forgotten, lonely on the werewolf’s beautiful features.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees with a nod of defeat. “Goodnight, Isaac.”

The other boy is gone before Stiles is through with the sentence. The only evidence he leaves behind is the open window and a naked Stiles. The boy shakes his head to clear it, walks over to closes the window.

He freezes with his hand on the windowsill.

A figure. A dark figure.

He leans forward, his heart thrumming like mad in his chest and his fingers shaking. He squeezes his eyes to better see into the darkness but all he sees is nothing. He shakes his head again and steps back from the window. It must have just been Isaac, he tells himself as he turns around and grabs his boxers, forgotten on the floor next to the bed.

For a moment he actually thinks about texting Isaac to ask him if it was really him outside his window just now but then he snorts at his own stupidity and falls back down on the bed. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore how the room smells of sex and sweat and Isaac. He ignores how he is starting to freeze. He wants to sleep and forget about Isaac and his tendencies to show up in the middle of the night for a quick fuck when the two boys are both lonely and forgotten. He almost misses the time when Isaac was hiding in France.

A breeze sends shivers down his spine and he opens his eyes suddenly. He must have forgotten to actually close the window, he realizes as he sits up with a heavy sigh.

Then he sees him.

Tall, dark, wearing black clothes, claws matching his fangs.

He doesn’t have time to scream before he feels someone hit him hard in the head and darkness overpowers him.

\--

He blinks once, then twice. He tries to move his head but it is ponding heavily. He feels something wet on his forehead and guesses it is blood. He exhales deeply and tries to open his eyes.

“God, Stiles!” he hears a voice gasp.

He sees nothing but darkness at first.

“Stiles? Stiles, are you okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer but it’s so dry it is almost impossible to push a word out into the open. He closes it again and then his eyes as well.

“No, no stay awake!”

A new voice. Female.

He opens his eyes once more, despite himself, and actually turns his head. He still sees nothing but darkness but he suspect someone is out there.

“Yeah,” he tries to say but he only manages to groan lowly.

“You okay?” Scott asks concerned. “Stiles?”

“Give him a second,” he hears Lydia demand, her voice shaking slightly.

“Stiles?” It sounds like Kira.

“Fine,” he finally manages to say loud enough for his friends to hear. “I’m fine.”

“Oh god,” he hears Lydia sigh in relief.

“Where are we?” he asks as he scrambles to a sitting position. The floor is cold and dirty beneath him. The wall behind him is the same. He lift his hand to examine the wound on his forehead and the chains around his wrists rattle.

“Some basement,” Scott answers.

“We don’t know who put us here,” Lydia answers before he can even ask the questions. “Scott said he smelled werewolf on them.”

“But a weird sort of werewolf. I think they are some sort of hybrid,” Scott explains.

Stiles just hums. His head is pounding like mad, his body feels week, he’s almost naked and he is definitely bruised and bleeding.

 “Who are we?” he asks.

“Me,” Scott answers, “Lydia, Kira and Isaac.”

Stiles stills, his breathing caught in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says, “what about the others?”

“We don’t know,” Kira answers in her small, uncertain voice.

Stiles exhales deeply and closes his eyes again. He feels so tired. He just wants to sleep until this is all over.

“Open your eyes!” Isaac’s voice suddenly cuts through the air like a knife and Stiles opens his eyes suddenly, looking into the dark nothing in front of him.

“Isaac’s right,” Kira says. “You can’t sleep now. They probably hit you over the head or something.”

“They did,” Stiles mumbles and lift his hand, his chain rattling. He feels his fingertips brush the wound and he winces.

“Shit, you okay?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles. “What about you guys? What happened to you?”

“Well,” Scott begins, “Kira and I had just gotten back from our date. We were in the living room and mom was at work. Kira thought she heard something and opened the door. That was when they attacked.”

“How many exactly?” Stiles asked.

“Four,” Kira answers.

“Lydia?”

“Pretty much the same deal,” she says. “I was alone in my bedroom. I heard Prada bark downstairs so I went down to see what was wrong and they were waiting for me. Three of them.”

“And Isaac?” he finally asks. He tries to say it casually, tries not to think about how Isaac sounds when he comes, how he chokes down his moans, how his fingernails are blunt and sharp, how his lips are soft but demanding –

“I was talking a walk,” Isaac says. Stiles ignores the short stab of pain he feels in his chest by the easy lie that rolls over the other boy’s lips. “They surrounded me in the park. Probably about three or four of them.”

“What the hell do they want?” Stiles wonders as he bites his lower lips thoughtfully.

No one answers him and a silence falls over the five teenagers.

\--

His eyes have gotten used to the darkness. He can vaguely see Kira and Scott sitting close to each other in the other end of the basement. To his right is Lydia, to his left is Isaac. His head is still pounding like mad but it has stopped bleeding a long time ago. His bones are aching, his muscles are screaming but he is okay.

No one is really saying anything. Every now and again Kira will mutter something and Scott will answer. Lydia sometimes says something but Stiles and Isaac are both cuttingly silent.

Stiles has no idea how long they have been sitting is this damn basement when the door suddenly opens. They all turn their heads. A heavy tension fill the air. Stiles holds his breath as he sees someone enter.

Ten people enter the basement, one after one.

“Hello,” one of them says in a nice, welcoming tone of voice. He is tall, broad-shouldered and with warm, brown eyes. He claps his hands together and smiles widely. “How are you feeling?”

No one answers. Stiles wants to shout until his throat is dry but he has a feeling it won’t do him any good. He glances at Isaac and the catches the other boy’s blue eyes.

“I hope you are feeling alright?” the man, probably around thirty or thirty-five years old, says.  

“What do you want?” Scott asks. Stiles does not need to turn his head to look at his best friend to know that his eyes are glowing a bright, burning red color.

The man laughs earnestly. “You must be Scott also known as the true alpha. I’m very impressed.”

“What do you want?” Scott repeats.

“And who are you?” the man asks Kira. He tilts his head and licks his lips. “What do you say, Wolfgang?”

A man standing close to the entrance lifts his head. His is bold, slim and shirtless for some reason. His claws are long and sharp, even Stiles can see that.

“She does not smell like wolf,” Wolfgang answers with a shrug.

The other man hums. “The banshee then? Or the kitsune perhaps?”

“Look, we don’t want any trouble –“ Scott begins again but the man quickly interrupts him and turns his attention to Lydia.

“Not a wolf,” Wolfgang answers immediately.

“Interesting,” the man says. He turns to Isaac and the boy immediately flashes his yellow eyes and impressive set of fangs and claws. The man laughs again. “Oh, but that is a wolf I assure you of that. Beta. Good.”

And then his eyes lands of Stiles and the human can’t breathe.

“And who are you?” he asks. “Even I can see that you are not wolf, what are you then?”

Stiles does not answer, he just sits terrifyingly still waiting for the moment to pass. No one says anything as the man takes a few steps closer examining Stiles carefully with his watchful eyes that sends chills down Stiles’ spine.

Suddenly the man straightens his back and looks to one of the other men Stiles assumes must be werewolves.

“There was no human with the others, right?” he asks and there’s no warmth in his voice any longer.

“Our friends?” Scott asks. “What did you do to them?”

“I assure you that they are just fine,” the man answers. Two other men shakes their head to answer his original question and the man turns back to face Stiles, his eyes burning.

“Is it possible? He is not even a druid like the other?”

Several people shrug but none of them dare deny or confirm.

“He must be,” the man says lowly as he steps closer and closer to Stiles. “Is it – is it possible he is _just_ a human?”

There’s a heavy silence. Stiles doesn’t breathe, neither does the man, everyone else seems to be frozen in the tense moment. Then the man takes a step back and laughs louder than ever before. He claps his hands together once more and continues to laugh. Stiles inhales sharply as he feels his blood run cold in his veins.

“A human, oh dear,” he laughs. “A human. Oh, I have the most wonderful idea. Wonderful idea.”

He gives Stiles a wicked smile as he approaches him once more. Each step he takes is loud in the basement only illuminated by the light streaming in from the open doorway. And yet Stiles can see him so clearly is makes his skin crawl.

“How would you like to save your pack?” the man asks and his voice is low and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks.

The man smiles again. “I want to play a game. Are you familiar with games?”

In his head Stiles hears the nogitsune’s loud, clear voice ring out: To win the game. This was my game. Think you can beat me at my game?

“Very,” he answers in a low tone of voice.

“Good,” the man says. “Unchain him. And bring the others. This will be fun.”

Stiles opens his mouth when three men approaches him but before he can stutter a word one of them hits him again and he passes out.

\--

Ice-cold water hits him hard like a wall and he splutters awake, choking and gasping for air. He coughs a few times and inhales deeply. He blinks several times before he is able to take in his surroundings. What he sees terrifies him greatly.

Around him is his pack, all of them. Isaac, Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, Derek, Liam and even Peter and Deaton. Behind them stands line after line of men or women, all with cold eyes, claws and fangs. Their eyes all shine a bright, blue color that is a crucial reminder of their deeds.

Stiles realizes he is chained to the chair he is situated on but only on one hand and both legs. His right hand is free and moveable for some reason. He is placed on one side of a table. On the middle of the table is a gun. On the other side is an empty chair. Stiles can hardly breathe at this point.

“Hello,” a voice says and Stiles turns to see the man from before enter the room. “Glad to see you are finally awake. I think it is time for introduction. My name is Fernando. This is my pack. What is your name, human?”

“None of your business,” Stiles grits out.

Fernando only laughs as he reaches the table. He grabs Stiles’ head and turns his head violently. “Wrong,” he says. “What is your name?”

“None of –“

A hand slaps him hard across the face and he gasps out in pain. He hears a loud roar cut through the air and he sees Isaac throw himself forward only to be pulled back by hands with claws.

Fernando laughs again. “Now, what would your name be?”

“Stiles,” he finally answers as he takes his eyes off Isaac. “Stiles is my name.”

“Interesting,” Fernando answers. “So, are you ready to play?”

Stiles swallows hard. “What if I refuse?”

“Well, why don’t you wait till you hear the rules, yes?” Fernando asks. He takes the gun on the table and holds it out in front of him. “This gun,” he explains, “only has one bullet. Do you see where I am going with this?”

Stiles wants to shout that he has no idea but that would a very bitter lie. He nods once.

“So here’s how this is going to happen,” Fernando continues. “I will pick one from my pack to play with you. Since they are wolves, it is possible they will survive a bullet to the head but I seriously doubt it. Should that be the case I will see to it that they die no matter what, okay?”

“I’m not interested in watching anyone die,” Stiles answers.

Fernando just laughs. “You will take turns of course. If it is you who takes the bullet, then you die, naturally, and I will pick another from your pack and the game will continue until you are all dead or one from my pack takes the bullet. When that happens, when one of mine dies, I set you free.”

“Just like that?” Stiles asks.

“Just like that,” Fernando promises. “Should you refuse, though, I will just kill all of you right now.”

Stiles closes his head. His heart is drumming in his chest. His head is pounding as he had stopped breathing, the air caught in his throat painfully.

“Do you want to play, Stiles?” Fernando asks.

He swallows hard, tries to will himself to be calm but with no luck. “Yes,” he answers. “Let’s play.”

Isaac roars again and this time Derek, Malia, Scott and Liam also join.

“Your pack is rooting for you, human,” Fernando whispers. Then he turns to his own pack. “Wolfgang, get over here.”

Wolfgang, still shirtless, walks over and takes the seat opposite of Stiles. Fernando smiles and takes a step back.

“Guests first,” he says and hands Stiles the gun. The boy looks at it for a long, suffering moment before he picks it up and slowly raises it to his temple.

“NO!” Lydia begs. “Please, don’t make him –“

“I’m not making him do anything,” Fernando interrupts her. “You can put it down right now Stiles and we will kill you all without a fight.”

Stiles wants to sneer but he can’t. His heart beats so fast it hurts, his fingers are wet with sweat, his eyes burn, his body shakes and his head pounds. He bites down on his lip not to scream or cry and he shuts his eyes close as he pulls the trigger.

The click that follows is louder than any bang could ever hope to be. He exhales, shaking even worse than before as he places the gun on the table again.

“Very good,” Fernando hums as he pushes the gun to Wolfgang’s side of the table. The werewolf picks it up like it is nothing, spins the cylinder, places the gun in his mouth – Fernando rolls his eyes like this has happened before – and then Wolfgang pulls the trigger and the click drowns in his throat. He pulls the gun out, never looking away from Stiles’ flickering, terrified eyes as he pushes the gun to his side of the table once more.

This time it is for some reason easier to pick it up. He spins the cylinder. He can feel a tear roll down his face but he does not hesitate to place the gun against his temple again. When he closes his eyes, he pictures his friends, their faces, their smiles and he hears their laughter loud and bright in his head. He wishes he could just take the bullet and then the game could be over but he knows that is not how this works. If he dies it is just someone else’s turn and he can’t handle that thought. He pictures Lydia sitting on the chair and he can’t breathe. He pictures Scott holding the gun in his hands and Stiles chokes on the air. He pictures Kira or Liam or Derek sitting where he sits and he wants to cry. He pictures Peter and feels nothing. He pictures Malia or even Deaton and he can’t swallow. He pictures Isaac holding the gun against as his temple as Stiles is doing right now and he can finally pull the trigger, the thought so horrible he would rather die than imagine it any more.

Click.

He pushes the gun towards Wolfgang once more, tears streaming freely down his pale cheeks now. If they did not spin the cylinder, they would be halfway through by now he thinks as he watches Wolfgang do just that before he places the gun in his mouth again and pulls the trigger.

Click.

Stiles picks up the gun and spins the cylinder. He feels the weight of the lethal weapon in his hand. This could be his final moments, he thinks as he places it against his head once more. This could be the last three seconds of his life.

He turns his head to his pack but he can’t meet their eyes. He wishes he could stop crying but he can’t. He wishes the game would end if he died because then he would gladly give up his life. He swallows hard, catches Wolfgang’s bright, blue eyes and pulls the trigger.

Click.

He inhales sharply and lowers the gun again.

“Well,” Fernando says. “Anyone want to bet on who lives?”

Stiles feels sick.

“Wolfgang,” someone says.

“The human,” someone else says.

This continues.

A loud roar interrupts them and sends shivers down Stiles’ spine.

He cannot look at his friends.

“Give the gun to Wolfgang,” Fernando says, “Stiles.”

The boy doesn’t look up at the man as he pushes the gun across the table to Wolfgang who picks it up, spins and puts it back in his mouth. Their eyes meet, yet again and time stops. Stiles sees fear in Wolfgang’s blue eyes that flashes to a dark green for a brief second. Stiles gasps silently. He sees Wolfgang’s hand shake when he pulls the trigger. He hears the click and exhales deeply with closed eyes. He doesn’t open his eyes until the gun is in front of him again.

“Stop!” Lydia begs when Stiles picks it up. “Please, _please_!”

“I would bet my leg that she is the banshee,” Fernando says carelessly. “Hmm, not a good sign, Stiles.”

“Don’t do it, Stiles, don’t do it!” she screams loudly.

Another loud roar and then another, and another, and another, and another.

He doesn’t breathe anymore. He stops crying. He looks down at the gun in his hand.

Lydia screams so loud several of the wolves shout and cover their ears. Even Wolfgang winces. Fernando smiles wickedly.

“Stiles, no!” Isaac shouts when Stiles spins the cylinder. It stops. Lydia screams again. Stiles can hardly hear anything, the only sound he notices it that of his own heartbeat and his blood pounding in his ears. “Stiles don’t, please,” Isaac continues. He sounds close to tears.

Derek roars, Malia follows and then Liam. Scott is silent. Kira as well. Lydia stops screaming. Deaton and Peter have not said a word. Isaac never stops shouting. Stiles lifts the gun and presses it against his right temple once more. It feels somewhat familiar against his skin already. He is calm – too calm. He meets Wolfgang’s eyes and the werewolf does not look afraid anymore. In fact, he looks relieved. He looks happy. He smiles. Stiles blinks away a final tear. His hand stars shaking. He cannot feel anything. He cannot hear anything. All he sees are Wolfgang’s blue eyes. His finger presses down on the trigger. He refuses to close his eyes. He wants to see Wolfgang’s expression change into horror as his brain scatters on the table and his blood colors the floor. He wants to see Wolfgang’s horrible smile. Maybe he even wants to hear his laughter. He wants to know how Wolfgang feels. Now and after as well.

In the end, he can’t do it and he shuts his eyes tightly close as he starts to press.

Then everything changes.

The world erupts into loud roars and darkness. Stiles opens his eyes but cannot see anything. He is still holding the gun against his head. He hears fighting but can’t do anything. He sits frozen in his chair, chains on legs and wrist. He stares at where Wolfgang may still be seated as if the wolf will materialize out of the sudden and immense darkness.

That is when someone yanks the chair back and he hits the floor with a loud yelp. His head hits the floor and for a second even the darkness is blurry. He hears screaming and begs to everything and anything out there that it is not anyone from his pack. He still clutches the gun but not to his head anymore. He feels a rough hand on his body and someone yanks him but he remains chained to the chair. A loud roar of frustration fills the already full air. More screaming and more fighting. Seconds turns into minutes and a foot collides with his stomach and knocks the air out of him. He gasps just when someone kicks him in the head and the world turns blurry once more. Then someone is pulling at him again but this time, suddenly, he hears and feels the chains on his food release and he tries to blink the darkness away but to no use.

Someone grabs his left arm.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he hears Isaac desperate voice promise him.

“Isaac,” Stiles says, already calmer. “Isaac.”

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise you.”

“Isaac,” Stiles whispers.

“Please,” Isaac sobs, “believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Stiles mumbles. “I do.”

Isaac breathes heavily as he finally manages to release Stiles completely. His strong and familiar hands grab Stile’s body and helps it off the floor.

“What’s – what is happening?” Stiles gasps.

“Everything will be fine,” Isaac promises. “Stay behind me!”

Stiles grabs hold of Isaac’s shirt, clutches it like his last lifeline and follows the wolf-boy through the mess. Several times someone or something hits him and he whimpers and once even screams. By the time they reach the door, Stiles can barely stand but he is still holding onto Isaac’s shirt. The door is open, Stiles realizes as they step through it, but it is not until they are on the other side that the darkness disappears. He blinks and gasps for air.

Isaac turns around and faces him, his face bloody and his eyes wide and yellow with worry. That is when Stiles sees him, over Isaac’s shoulder. Wolfgang doesn’t roar, doesn’t make a sound. He I silent as he approaches. Maybe he has forgotten about the gun, he certainly doesn’t look afraid when he meets Stiles’ eyes. Without hesitating Stiles lifts his right hand and aims. He father taught him how to shoot many years ago. He won’t miss, even if he wanted to. Isaac’s eyes widen but he doesn’t move. It’s okay, Stiles doesn’t need him to. It feels like hours but it happens so fast Wolfgang doesn’t even have time to react or move. Stiles look into Wolfgang’s eyes as he presses the trigger and shoots him right between the eyes. Stiles gets to see the bright blue turn into a dark green before the werewolf falls to the floor; dead.

Then Stiles passes out, Isaac screaming his name.

\--

He wakes up he is in his own bed, in his own room and alone. He swallows hard and sits up in his bed. For a moment, he wonders if it was all just a horrible nightmare, something he made up inside his head, conjured by his vivid imagination, but then he lifts his hand and feels a bandage around his head and he knows that’s not the case. He swallows hard and feels a tear roll down his cheek.

Someone opens the door and enters his room. He turns to look at his father. The sheriff stops in the doorway with his hand on the handle.

“Oh,” he says, “you’re awake.”

“Yes,” Stiles whispers. “I am.”

Then his father practically attacks him, wraps his arms around him and hugs him so tight is physically hurts but Stiles doesn’t complain at all.

“Oh god,” the sheriff whispers, “I was so afraid.”

He pulls back and Stiles thinks he looks ten years older.

“I was so scared, son.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

The sheriff pulls his son in for another crushingly tight hug. “It will be okay,” he says. “It will be okay.”

“Are – did something happen to the others?” Stiles doesn’t want to hear the answer but he knows he has to. He sees his father lips move and he realizes he isn’t breathing anymore so he exhales deeply.

“The wolves healed just fine, of course. Lydia was in the hospital briefly but she is just fine. Deaton was in a worst shape but his sister came and fixed him right up, we didn’t ask any questions.”

Stiles can only manage a nod at this point.

“You are all okay,” the sheriff clarifies.

“We are all okay,” Stiles agrees as he closes his eyes and feels the tear run down his cheek freely. “We are all okay.”

\--

Stiles is not a stranger to nightmares. Even before the nogitsune possessed him, he had them from time to time but never like this. He sees Wolfgang’s eyes every godforsaken time he closes his own. He sees them turn green; he sees the light leave them. He sees him die over and over again. It is making him go insane. He doesn’t know how to make it stop.

After Deaton recovers, they all have a pack meeting at the clinic. It is the first time they are all gathered since they escaped. Stiles has seen most of his pack individually or two and two but there are still some, like Peter, of course, Deaton, obviously, and Isaac who hasn’t paid him a visit.

Scott barely left his side when he found out he was awake. Lydia joined him after a day. Kira and Malia dropped by every morning. Liam came every other day, sometimes more. Sometimes he even brought Mason. Even Derek came once or twice to see how he was doing. Isaac never came. Now the taller boy is leaning against the wall next to the door as if he wants to be able to run away at any moment. Stiles stands between Lydia and Scott. He can see Derek and Peter in the middle of the room where Deaton is also standing. The oldest male looks weaker but somehow still amazingly strong.

Stiles does not feel strong at all. He feels weak.

Deaton tells them a story Stiles already knows about what happened:

The powder that turned everything black that Deaton had somehow smuggled with him.

The spell he used to break the chains on the wolves.

He tells about them about escaping.

Then he tells about the pack that they escaped.

Fernando was not the alpha, he wasn’t – isn’t – even a wolf.

“Human,” Deaton says. “He is human. Most of the wolves were hybrids between a wolf and some other supernatural creature. It was a pack created for fun, a pack created by Fernando to see what would happen if he mixed the races as much as possible.”

“Are they still out there?” Lydia wants to know. “Will they come after us again?”

“Your guess is as good as mine but for the time being I have called some of my, ah, colleges to assist us. Derek, are there anyone you can contact?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe Cora knows someone.”

“Good,” Deaton nods. “Call Jackson as well, he has a new pack now. Scott, where is Mr. Argent?”

“In France, I think,” Scott shrugs.

“Find him,” Deaton says and Scott nods.

Stiles inhales deeply, closes his eyes and sees blue turn green.

“That is all we can do for now, I’m afraid,” Deaton says.

The others talk, Stiles tries to listen but it is so difficult. He looks out of the only window and he sees the green leaves on the trees and the blue sky behind them and he can hardly breathe.

“Anything else?” Deaton finally asks.

No one says anything. For some reason they are all looking at Stiles. He inhales suddenly under his pack’s burning eyes. He meets Isaac’s eyes for the first time in weeks and his mouth goes dry. Then they both look away and Stiles shakes his head.

“I have nothing to report,” he tells them.

They all nod and Isaac is the first one out of the door.

\--

He gives up on sleep completely the third week after their rescue. He is exhausted from waking up, bathed in sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. He is exhausted from not getting more than one or two hours of sleep every night. His bones ache, his head hurts, his blood pounds and his muscles scream. His father looks tired as well and it is all Stiles’ fault. He decides it is better, wiser, to just stay awake forever.

He is sitting in his room, looking out of the window. The clock reads 03.45. His computer is on, but he cannot remember why. He has been staring into the darkness for nearly an hour now and he is not sure he is actually capable of moving anymore, even if wanted to.

He tries not to think about Wolfgang. He tries not to remember the sound. The sound, the feelings, the sight, everything is carved into his memories and he cannot erase them no matter how hard he tries.

He killed him.

Stiles killed him.

He has killed before but that was the nogitsune wearing his face, that wasn’t actually Stiles. At least, that is what people keep telling him. This time they don’t tell him anything because this time it was actually Stiles. Stiles who pulled the trigger, Stiles who killed Wolfgang. Wolfgang whose fingers were shaking when he picked up the gun and who looked terrified the last time he pulled the trigger.

This is when Stiles sees it.

A dark figure is watching him.

He stands up so suddenly his chair falls to the floor. He stares at the figure but nothing happens. Then it simply turns around and leaves.

Stiles watched for a few seconds but then he turns all the lights on in his rooms immediately and looks around. He is still utterly alone. He stays frozen in front of the window for nearly twenty minutes before he sits back down and stares back into the nothingness again.

The same thing happens the night after that. This time he is not as afraid. He has a feeling he knows who it is.

The next day he is awake but hardly alive. He is in school but he is not at all sure what is going on around him. His friends surround him, they look uncertain and scared. They keep asking him if he is alright, if he needs anything but Stiles just keeps shrugging. He sees Isaac, once, and the boy refuses to meet Stiles’ eyes.

That night he is so tired he is ready to pass out but instead he waits until his father is asleep before he grabs his coat and leaves the house.

He is not afraid of the dark. Despite everything that has happened to him he has never been scared of the dark. He is terrified of what might hide in the darkness, sure, but he also knows that the fear of the unknown is no use so he tries not to think about it. Besides, the darkness works the other way as well; sometimes is can cover him just as it can hide dark creatures. The darkness is just as much his friend as it is his enemy.

He reaches the apartment complex somewhere after three. He calls Chris Argent because these days he has his number in his phone as well. He picks up after three rings.

“Can I come in?” Stiles asks almost casually. He is so tired he is practically asleep right there outside the front doors.

“What happened?” Chris Argent asks urgently.

“Nothing. Can I come in?” he repeats.

The world is spinning. He feels almost drunk. Or like crying. Possibly both.

“What’s wrong?” Chris demands to be told.

“Nothing,” Stiles sighs. “I need to talk to Isaac.”

There is a silence for a heartbeat or two. “You know something I don’t?”

“Probably,” Stiles shrugs.

Another silence. Then Chris sighs and a few seconds later Stiles can push the doors open and walk towards the elevator.

He reaches their floor and their door. He never knocks; Chris is on the other side, waiting for him. He opens, already wearing jeans a white t-shirt. Stiles wants to roll his eyes but he thinks that he might actually fall asleep if he moves them too much.

“You are not okay,” is the first thing Chris announces when he sees the kid in front of him.

“I’m fine,” Stiles shrugs. “Can I come in?”

“Isaac is awake,” Chris answers as he takes a step back. “Are you sure you are okay, Stiles?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles repeats. “His room?”

“Second door to your left,” the older man explains as he closes the door carefully while watching Stiles with intense eyes. Stiles walks slowly but he still sways uncertainly. He supports himself with an unsteady hand against the wall with the pictures of Allison and Victoria.

Stiles reaches the door and opens it.

He has never been in any of Isaac’s room before; not when he lived with his father, not when he lived with Derek, not when he lived Scott, obviously not when he was in France and not this one either.

It’s big. It has a large bed on one side of the room and a table beneath a large window that is wide open. There are clothes on the floor and the TV is on. On the bedside table there is a pile of books. The closet is open. In the windowsill is a plant that looks half-dead.

Isaac is nowhere to be found in the room but Stiles walks in nevertheless. He debates sitting down on the bed but he is certain that if he sits down he will never be able to get back up again.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles turns around so suddenly he almost falls.

Isaac is sitting inside the almost empty closet. In his lap is his computer and Stiles can see he is watching some show on Netflix. Stiles blinks and finds it hard to open his eyes.

“I came to ask you why you have been watching me the last two days,” Stiles tells the boy calmly as he sways from side to side.

Isaac furrows his eyebrows and steps out of the closet.

“I would also like to know why you are in your closet,” Stiles hums.

“Are you okay, Stiles?” Isaac asks slowly as he approaches the boy.

“Yes,” Stiles says. “No,” he changes it to after a while. “Answer my question.”

“What is wrong, what happened?” Isaac asks immediately.

“Nothing happened,” Stiles sighs. “Please just answer the damn questions!”

Stiles is not sure if he is shouting or if he just sounds loud to his own ears because he is exhausted and practically asleep.

“How do you know it was me?” Isaac asks.

“I just did,” Stiles mumbles.

“It could have been Scott,” the beta continues.

“No,” Stiles disagrees, “he is always home with his mom at night these days.”

“Malia then,” Isaac says.

Stiles shrugs. “Why would Malia be outside my bedroom?”

“Didn’t you fuck her once?”

Stiles shrugs again. “I don’t see your point,” he says.

“Why would I be outside your window then?” Isaac asks.

“How should I know?” Stiles asks. At this point, he is talking just to stay awake. “You were the one doing it, not me.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Isaac hisses. “Look, I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable –“

“I thought it was them,” Stiles interrupts. “The first time I saw you briefly. I thought it was them.”

Isaac is silent, Stiles can’t see his face because his vision is so blurry. He tries to remember the first time he had sex with Isaac. He tries to remember when it was. At Danny’s birthday party? After the dinner at Derek’s? At the memorial they held a month after Allison’s death? How many weeks after Allison’s death did Stiles suck Isaac’s cock? Was it right after Isaac got back from hiding in France? He can’t remember. He can remember every detail of Wolfgang’s face the second he died but he can’t remember when he first had sex with the boy standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says.

“There’s something wrong with me,” Stiles clarifies calmly.

“What,” Isaac says. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something wrong with me,” Stiles repeats, as if Isaac just didn’t hear him properly the first time.

Suddenly the wolf is grabbing his shoulders. “Did they do something to you?” he practically screams.

Stiles snorts. “Do something,” he whispers. “I did something,” he says. “I killed someone. I killed someone, Isaac.”

“Stiles –“

“Again. I killed someone again.”

He wants to cry but he is too tired.

“Don’t say that,” Isaac begs.

“It’s true,” Stiles whispers.

“No.”

“It is though,” Stiles hums. “I killed him.”

“You had to.”

“Did I?”

“Stiles. Don’t do this.”

“What am I doing, Isaac?”

Isaac looks like he wants to cry, too. He looks tired. He looks beyond tired. He looks broken. Stiles feels broken. It is possible he is just tired.

“I shouldn’t have left you that night,” Isaac suddenly whispers.

“I wouldn’t have made a difference,” Stiles says.

“Maybe. If I had stayed like you asked me to we would have been two when –“

“I wouldn’t have made a difference,” Stiles interrupts. “They would have still caught us. They weren’t stupid.”

“And yet we beat them,” Isaac whispers.

“Did we?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t,” Isaac says.

“I don’t know what –“

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Isaac –“

“I shouldn’t have –“

Stiles leans forward and somehow manages to kiss Isaac. It’s a miracle he can even find the energy to do so in the state he is in.

“Shut up,” he begs, leaning against Isaac’s broad chest.

“Stiles –“

“No,” Stiles begs, the energy leaping out of him like gas from a balloon, “I don’t want you to talk anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did.”

“Why did you watch me yesterday? And the day before that as well.”

“I had to.”

Stiles physically can’t ask anymore questions.

He closes his eyes and disappears into the well-known darkness that he calls his friend and enemy.

\--

He opens his eyes agonizingly slow, blinks several times and then he sees Isaac sitting next to the bed Stiles is currently located on. When Isaac notices that Stiles is awake he exhales deeply.

“Hey,” the other boy whispers as he reaches down and carefully places a gentle hand on Stiles’ forehead. “Hey.”

“Where am I?” Stiles mumbles.

“Hospital. We took you here as soon as you fainted.”

“Does my dad knows?” he asks.

Isaac nods. “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine,” Stiles sighs.

“But don’t worry,” Isaac tells him, “there is nothing wrong with you, you just needed rest.”

Stiles nods but doesn’t say anything. He keeps looking into Isaac’s beautiful blue eyes and he expects the boy to remove his hand but he doesn’t. Instead he leans down, slowly, as if he wants to give Stiles the time to pull back. When he doesn’t, Isaac actually smiles before he kisses Stiles carefully, their lips barely touching.

“Sleep some more,” Isaac tells him.

“Okay,” Stiles whispers, eyes already closed.

None of them say anything else and it only take a few second before Stiles is fast asleep again. When he wakes up several hours later, Isaac is gone. Stiles sighs deeply.

\--

“You okay, dude?”

Stiles looks at Scott and gives him a smile. “Sure.”

“It’s just, you seem tired.”

Stiles just shrugs. He is sure Scott can smell the anxiety on him, he can probably smell just how exhausted Stiles really is. Maybe he can smell how lonely he is despite of the fact that he surrounded by his pack and friends. It’s possible Scott can even tell that Stiles has nightmares every single night.

“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately,” Stiles shrugs like is doesn’t make a difference. He takes the books out of his locker and closes it before he grabs his backpack from the floor. Scott looks like he is about to say something else but there must be something about Stiles that makes him change his mind because he stays quiet as they walk to class together.

It goes okay for a few more days. Stiles wakes up screaming at the top his lungs every night. By the time his dad runs into his room, he is usually sitting silently, arms wrapped around his legs and his eyes staring right ahead of him at nothing at all. Scott keeps asking if he is okay but Stiles just shrugs.

He hasn’t talked to Isaac for four days when the boy suddenly stands outside his front door one evening. Stiles watches him for a few seconds without saying anything and then he gives him a bright smile that feels odd on his face.

“Hey there, Isaac,” he says. “How can I help you?”

Isaac gives him an odd look. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Stiles says and takes a step to the side. He closes the door after the werewolf. “Is something wrong? You look a bit worried, dude.”

“Is your dad home?”

“Nope. At work. So, what can I do for you?”

Isaac turns to face him. He opens his mouth and suddenly Stiles remembers.

The first time he had sex with Isaac was before he left for France. Only a few days after Allison’s death. It had been in the middle of the night. The werewolf had suddenly showed up. They had talked about something or nothing and Stiles had known that the other boy was there to say goodbye but he had pretended to have no idea. Stiles had kissed Isaac first because a part of him thought ‘why the hell not’ and another part of him had been desperate to try to make him stay. Today he is not sure why he ever thought kissing Isaac would make the other boy reconsider. In the end he left no matter what. He never even said goodbye.

“I have to go,” Isaac says.

Stiles’ heart misses countless of beats. “You just came,” he snorts. “Want something to drink?”

He pushes past the other and walks into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and looks for something he can distract himself with but finds nothing. When he grabs a glass and pours water into it, his hands are shaking slightly. He curses himself mentally and turns around when Isaac enters the kitchen uncertainly.

“Stiles,” he sighs.

“Isaac,” Stiles says brightly and raises his glass as if to drink with him. He drowns the water in one go. “Now tell me what you want, I have a history paper –“

“I’m leaving,” Isaac says again.

“Then why did you even come?” Stiles snorts again, as if Isaac is beyond reasoning and pours more water into his glass. “Dude, seriously, is there anything I can do for you –“

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Isaac continues.

Stiles’ breath gets caught in his throat.

“Where to?” he asks casually.

Isaac shrugs. “Around.”

“France?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure though.”

Stiles only nods. He is not sure what else to do at this point. He looks at Isaac and he realizes that he knows every part of his face, every little mold, every feature, the feeling of his sharp cheekbones and the way his long eyelashes feels against Stiles’ own skin. He knows how the heat of Isaac’s wet tongue feels in his own mouth and he knows how those curls feel when he runs his hands through Isaac’s hair.

Isaac is like a map, Stiles has every importantly detail written down.

“Stiles? Say something.”

Stiles shrugs, his features falling into perfect disinterest. Cold.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something. Anything.”

“Do what you want.”

Isaac sighs frustrated and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he mumbles and turns around to leave. “I just wanted to say goodbye –“

“Isaac,” Stiles suddenly says, his voice breaking slightly. The other boy turns around. They look at one another for a long while. None of them say anything and then, suddenly, they both move and they are kissing.

Isaac pushes Stiles against the kitchen counter and Stiles immediately wraps his legs around the taller boy’s waist. Stiles’ hands run down Isaac’s body, his fingertips sending shivers down Isaac’s spine. Isaac pushes him down on his back, his wet tongue licking his throat hungrily.

“Please,” Stiles moans.

“Stiles,” Isaac says breathlessly.

Isaac lifts Stiles of the counter as if he weights nothing. Their eyes meet when Isaac carries him upstairs.

\--

A week later Isaac is still in Beacon Hills. He drops by Stiles’ room practically every evening these days. Stiles is almost always awake when the werewolf crawls in through the window. Stiles just hums when he sees Isaac suddenly standing in the middle of his room.

Stiles always orders Isaac out before either of them fall asleep. Sometimes Isaac tries to argue, sometimes he points out that it is stupid. Most nights he gives up without a fight. Stiles is grateful for those nights.

Stiles still has nightmares, he still sees Wolfgang’s eyes every time he closes his eyes and he wonders when it will get better. His pack can probably smell his anxiety like smoke in the air and especially Scott keeps sending him worried looks and asks him if he is really all right.

One night the sheriff walks into Stiles’ room somewhere around four. He hasn’t heard his son scream once and to be honest is terrifies him. He opens the door and finds the Lahey kid sitting on Stiles’ desk, legs spread and Stiles standing in between them.

“Hey there,” the sheriff says and Stiles jumps away from Isaac so abruptly he actually loses his footing and falls. He looks up at his father and gives him a smile.

“Hello father,” he says. “You awake?”

“Actually I am. I was wondering if you were as well.”

“Ah,” Stiles says. He glances at Isaac. “Well, I am.”

The sheriff sends his son a look and rolls his eyes before he makes a strong hand gesture that indicates that Stiles should follow when he turns around and leaves the room without saying another word. Stiles watches his father turn right and hears him walk down the stars. He looks up at Isaac who is still sitting on the desk, legs spread and his mouth open. Stiles also rolls his eyes before he gets up from the floor.

“I will be right back,” he promises the other boy. “Don’t… Just stay there, okay?”

“Sure,” Isaac shrugs.

“Stay,” Stiles says. “Good boy.”

“Seriously?” Isaac asks dryly.

“Stiles!” the sheriff calls from downstairs.

Stiles gives the other boy a somewhat terrified smirk before he leaves the room. He finds his father downstairs, sitting in the kitchen, a glass in front of him and the bottle of whiskey next to it.

“Dad?” Stiles asks worried. “Are you okay?”

“Stiles,” his father sighs, “I should be the one asking that question, not you.”

“Okay,” Stiles says as he sits down, “well then I am fine, can I go back –“

“Are you and Isaac Lahey dating?”

“What?” Stiles exclaims. “Whatever gave you that idea? That’s insane!”

The sheriff doesn’t even bother with a comment, only takes a sip of the whiskey and Stiles sighs in defeat.

“Okay maybe I get where that comes from,” he admits. “We are not dating, dad. We are… we are…”

He doesn’t know what to answer because truthfully he is not sure what he and Isaac are. Friends, he suppose. Pack, certainly. That is probably not the answer his father is looking for, he reckons, so he just shrugs his shoulder and makes some wild, dismissing hand gestures.

“Look,” the sheriff says, “son.”

“Dad, please don’t worry –“

“But I do worry, Stiles,” the sheriff exclaims loudly, his eyes wide and his shoulders hunched. Stiles is stunned speechless for a moment. “Do you know why I woke up tonight? Noise.”

“Oh god,” Stiles groans and hides his face in his hands. “Please don’t say we woke you up because we –“

“You didn’t, Stiles,” the sheriff says. “That’s just it.”

Stiles looks at his father through his fingers. “What do you mean?”

“No nightmares. No screaming,” the sheriff explains, sadness painting his grey eyes.

“Oh,” Stiles just says.

“I woke up because you weren’t screaming. I have gotten so used to your nightmares that they –“

“Look, I’m sorry dad,” Stiles says, “I never meant for them to become such a problem for you –“

“Stiles,” his father interrupts him sharply. “I’m worried about you. Not because of Lahey. Well, maybe also a little because of the Lahey kid but mostly because you are not okay.”

Stiles is silent. He swallows hard and digs his nails into his palms in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking. It doesn’t work and he can’t meet his father’s eyes.

“I thought the nightmares would go away, I really did,” his dad says, voice slightly frantic and his hands grabbing the glass until his knuckles turn white. “I thought, as long as it’s not because of some demonic fox possessing you then I can learn to deal but Stiles, it’s not going away. It’s not getting better. It’s been months.”

“Dad,” Stiles whispers and tries with a smile. “This is nothing.”

“Yes it is, Stiles,” his father says and reaches out to take his hands. “I know what it’s like to kill someone because you have to. It’s a horrible feeling, even if –“

“Dad please believe me,” Stiles begs, “I will be okay. Wolfgang meant nothing to me, honestly, I just need some more time.”

“Stiles –“

“No,” Stiles pleads as he shakes his head. “I have been through so much worse! Erica, Boyd. The nogitsune and Allison. This is nothing compared to that, dad, I’m fine.” He sobs once. “I have to be.”

“Son,” the sheriff whispers. “We all have a breaking point.”

“I don’t get it,” Stiles mumbles as he looks down. “We have all been through so much worse, why is this getting to me?”

“Breaking points,” his dad says. “We all have them, this is yours. It’s okay, Stiles. You will be okay again, I promise you that.”

“Dad,” Stiles only says as he looks up and meets his father’s eyes. They’re clouded with tears and it gives Stiles a lump in the throat that makes it hard to breathe.

“We will get you help,” his father promises him. “We will figure this out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. After what feels like hours the sheriff finally nods and gets up from the table.

“Maybe you should go upstairs to your boyfriend?” he says.

“Dad,” Stiles whines. “He is not my boyfriend.”

The sheriff just snorts, pats his son’s shoulder and goes upstairs. Stiles stays downstairs for a few more minutes before he leaves the table and climbs the stairs as well. The door to his room is closed and he opens it slowly. He expects Isaac go have left by now but he is sitting on the floor with Stiles’ laptop in front of him, watching some show on Netflix and wearing Stiles’ headphones. Stiles smiles to himself as he walks up to the boy and sits down behind him. He wraps his arms and legs around Isaac’s body and hides his face between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Isaac says.

“Hi,” Stiles mumbles.

“You okay?”

“No,” Stiles mumbles. “Not yet.”

“Want to talk about it?” Isaac asks uncertainly.

Stiles snorts and kisses his neck. “I have a better idea.”

“What about your dad?” Isaac asks when Stiles starts to lift his shirt away. “Stiles?”

“It’s fine,” he promises.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Okay then.”

“Good boy.”

“Shut up.”

“Fido.”

“I hate you.”

Stiles just laughs.

\--

Her name is Miranda and she knows about the Supernatural world so she won’t send Stiles to some hospital when he starts to talk about werewolves, kanimas, hybrid wolves, evil foxes and demons.

She listens when he talks and asks questions when he has nothing to say. Sometimes he doesn’t want to tell her anything and she will just sit and watch him until he finally gives up. One time they spent the entire session just looking at one another but the next time Stiles felt like he is exploding and the door had barely closed behind him before he was telling her everything.

“How about Isaac?” she asks one day, nearly four months after the pack was kidnapped and Stiles survived.

“What about him?” Stiles asks nonchalant as he folds his hands.

Miranda gives him a sharp look and shakes her head.

“Fine,” Stiles hisses. Then he shrugs. “Everything is the same with Isaac. We never talk in school but he drops by practically every night.”

“Have you told Scott or your other friends about you two?”

“Why? There’s nothing to tell.”

“What do you two do when you are together?”

“Doc,” Stiles says, “seriously?”

Miranda smirks. “Let me rephrase. Is it only sex?”

Stiles furrows his eyebrows and shrugs again. “No,” he admits. “We watch movies. Sometimes we go for a walk. We talk. Sometimes we are silent together. It’s nice, I guess.”

“And do you want it to stay like this?” she continues on.

“Hardly matters what I want,” he snorts.

“Now why do you say that?”

“I would only be a replacement,” Stiles sighs.

“A replacement for who?” she asks.

“Allison,” Stiles says and looks away from Miranda’s piercing eyes.

“Is she Isaac’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Sorta,” Stiles answers.

“Did he break up with her?”

Stiles is silent for a few seconds, the words stuck in his throat. “She is dead.”

\--

Stiles gasps and lets his nail drag down Isaac’s bag, hoping to leave red marks for a few seconds before they heal. Isaac’s mouth runs over his throat, his jaw, along his cheek and up to his ear where he bites down on his right earlobe so hard it stings and sends shivers down Stiles’ spine.

Stiles moans and pushes upwards, his dick rubbing against Isaac’s stomach. The other boy breathes hard into Stiles’ ear as he thrust forward repeatedly. Stiles whimpers and closes his eyes, wraps one leg around Isaac’s torso and pushes up to meet every one of Isaac’s thrusts.

It’s an uneven rhythm but it is somewhat perfect despite of the fact that it seems to drive them both insane. Isaac changes position suddenly. He pulls out and Stiles bites his teeth hard together not to make a sound. Isaac lies down on his back and Stiles crawls on top of him. He slides down on Isaac’s cock easily, his head thrown back in pleasure and his mouth open in an unspoken moan. Isaac places his hands on Stiles’ waist and urges him to move.

Stiles looks down on the other boy and his eyes sparkle a horrible blue color that makes Stiles’ breath hitch. He leans forward until one hand is resting on Isaac’s chest and then he starts to move. Isaac gasps and moves one hand from Stiles’ hip to the back of his neck. He pulls him down for a hungry, biting kiss.

Stiles comes as soon as Isaac finally puts a hand on Stiles’ dick and strokes him a few times. Isaac follows close after as always. Afterwards they collapse next to each other on Stiles’ bed. They are both panting heavily and covered in sweat. The air is heavy with the smell of sex. They stay like that for a while and Stiles almost wants to ask Isaac to wrap an arm around him and cuddle closer to the human so they can fall asleep together. He wants to pretend as if that is something they do; fall sleep together. Not give a flying fuck about nightmares, breaking points or anything else.

After a while, however, Isaac exhales deeply and sits up. He gets up from the bed, grabs something from the pocket of his jeans forgotten on the floor in the heat of the moment. He walks over to the window, opens it and leans forward. Stiles sees him light a cigarette and inhale deeply.

“When did you start smoking?” he asks.

“It’s nice,” Isaac says.

“It’s also going to kill you.”

“Werewolf,” Isaac reminds him. “Besides, we are constantly in mortal danger anyway.”

“Mortal danger,” Stiles snorts. “When did you turn into a Shakespearian character from the Elizabethan time, Isaac?”

“Someone has been paying attention in English,” Isaac says not turning around to face Stiles who is glaring as his naked back. The smokes curls from Isaac’s smoke and disappears into the night. The boy exhales and the smoke turns into nothing in the cold air.

They are silent for a while. Stiles is thinking about popping in a Harry Potter DVD. Isaac and Stiles are both massive Harry Potter fans and they have seen all the movies together at least twice.

“I’ve been thinking,” Isaac says and interrupts Stiles’ wandering thoughts.

“That’s new,” the human snorts.

“Shut up,” Isaac says. “I’ve been looking at flight tickets.”

“Oh,” is all Stiles can say.

“I think I’m going to drive to Mexico first. Then maybe fly to Europe.”

“Back to France,” Stiles concludes, his voice sharp and his fingers clenched.

“Maybe,” Isaac shrugs. “I would like to also see Spain, Italy. Germany, Norway, Sweden.”

Stiles is silent. He has no idea what Isaac wants him to answer. He could pretend to be interested or pretend to be happy but honestly, he is just angry and slightly broken and tired.

“Chris has some business in Mexico next month,” Isaac continues.

Stiles inhales sharply.

“What about money?” he asks.

“I get the one I inherited from mom, dad and Cameron when I turn eighteen. Until then Chris has said he will pay for me.”

Finally Isaac finish the cigarette, drops it and turns around to face the naked boy on the bed, watching him with his golden-brown eyes.

“I’m tired,” Stiles says in an empty tone of voice, “do you mind?”

Isaac doesn’t say anything as he grabs his clothes and put it on, Stiles’ eyes never leaving him. Isaac walks over to the bedroom window. He turns to look at Stiles again.

“There’s a full moon in a few nights. I can’t come by.”

Stiles nods. “Good,” he says. “Don’t.”

“I will be back in a few days,” the werewolf says.

“I would rather you didn’t,” Stiles says.

They stare at each other in dead silence. Stiles refuses to look away from Isaac’s blue eyes no matter how painfully it is to look into them. He refuses to give the werewolf the satisfaction of being the stronger one this time as well.

“Fine,” Isaac spits and then he leaves through the window without another word. Stiles hears him land on the ground. There’s another silence and then the wolf runs away, he hears. Stiles stays on the bed for a while before he gets up and closes the window. He falls back down on the bed. He stares up in the white ceiling of his bedroom as he tries not to cry.

\--

Miranda asks him why he has nightmares. Stiles tells her the world is shit.

\--

Scott asks him if he is okay. Stiles tells him he is fine.

\--

His father tells him he is worried about him. Stiles tells him he is sorry.

\--

He tries to go through the days without thinking about Isaac but the boy is there every time he looks up from a book in the library or leaves a classroom or enters the canteen.

\--

He tries not to worry his pack but they keep asking him what they can do for him. He shrugs or tells them he is fine. They don’t believe him but it’s obvious they has no idea what to do.

\--

His world consists of moment, fractions. It’s like a puzzle of thousands of pieces that doesn’t fit together. He doesn’t know how to make it into a whole picture anymore. He just stares at it.

\--

“This has to stop,” Scott tells him an afternoon they are sitting in the library. Outside the rain is pouring down. Lydia, Malia and Kira are in the mall, shopping for the upcoming prom. Due to the reason lack of things trying to kill them, they can actually do something as normal as attend a High School prom.

Stiles places his fingertip on the page in the book to indicate where he is and looks up at Scott with a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

Scott rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what’s worse,” the werewolf says, “you and Isaac pretending like you don’t like each other when you have sex every goddamn night, or you and Isaac pretending like you don’t like each other when you _don’t_ have sex every goddamn night.”

Stiles blinks and closes the book. “What do you want me to say, Scotty?”

Scott sighs. “What about just telling me the truth?”

“The truth is nothing,” Stiles shrugs. “We fucked, it’s over. End of story.”

“Bullshit,” Scott says and leans forward. “Why did it end?”

“You sound like Miranda now,” Stiles snorts irritated. “Can you not?”

“I have to, Stiles, I’m your best friend and you are obviously not feeling well.”

“Well,” Stiles says, “that has nothing to do with Isaac but everything to do with the fact that I killed someone, Scotty.”

Scott I silent for a moment but then he shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think that is all it is,” he says. “You miss Isaac.”

“Please,” Stiles says and rolls his eyes. “Why would I miss him?”

“Because you are in love with him,” Scott whispers as if it is a fragile truth that might break if he says it too loudly.

Stiles just stares at his best friends, completely speechless. They stay like that for a moment. Then Stiles shakes his head in disbelief and starts putting his books into his backpack again.

“Stiles,” Scott begs, “please don’t –“

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Stiles shouts frustrated. He is not sure where the sudden anger is coming from or why he is directing it at Scott but all of the sudden his body is physically shaking with rage. “So what if I – if I… Look, it doesn’t matter okay? I’m sorry we are both such assholes, I’m sorry we are ruining everyone’s lives but it is over now. It should have never happened.”

“Stiles, why are you saying this?” Scott asks desperately.

“Because I would be a replacement!” Stiles screams. A tear escapes the corner of his eye. “I can’t be a replacement for a dead girl, even if that dead was one of my best friends. I just _can’t_.”

“Stiles,” Scott whispers. He sounds broken as well. They must be a pathetic sight, Stiles thinks. Two broken boys, staring at one another with tears in their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mumbles as he gets up from his chair. “I think I’ll just go home.”

“I’ll come by this weekend,” Scott promises him. “We can watch Star Wars, if you want to.”

Stiles gives him a sad smile. “Sounds great, Scotty. See you later.”

He goes home, goes up his room and stays there for the rest of night. He tells his father he is just tired but he is sure his dad can see at least some of the bitter truth in his son’s golden eyes.

At some point, he falls asleep on the bed. He dreams of Allison, he dreams of blue eyes, he dreams of a gun pressed to his temple, he dreams of Lydia screaming, he dreams of Isaac crying, he dreams of Isaac leaving, he dreams of Isaac crawling standing in front of a grave, he can’t see what name is written on the black stone.

“Stiles?”

He jolts awake abruptly, breathing heavily, still fully clothed.

“You okay?” Isaac, who is sitting on the edge of the bed, asks as he places a cold hand on Stiles’ burning forehead carefully. He strokes him with his thumb slowly.

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps. “Yes, yeah, just a bad dream. I’m fine.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything, he just watches Stiles with sad, concerned eyes that burns blue and bright in the dark bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he sits up, leaning against the wall.

“Scott send me,” Isaac answers in a whisper. He hasn’t removed his cold fingers yet.

“Why?” Stiles asks. “Did something happen? Are everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Isaac assures him.

“Is it something about the pack then?”

“No.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Us.”

Stiles blinks. “What?” he asks.

Isaac sighs and runs his free hand down his face exhaustedly. “Us,” he repeats slowly.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks confused. “What about us?”

“You know what,” Isaac hisses in obvious irritation.

“Frankly, I don’t,” Stiles says dryly as he pushes himself of the bed and takes a step away from the taller boy watching his movements. He folds his arms across his chest and turns to glare at Isaac, a painful feeling in his chest threatening to burst into flames. “What do you _want_ , Isaac?”

Isaac gets up from the bed then. “What I want?” he asks. “What I want?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles shouts, “what do you want from me?”

“I want you to stay alive!” Isaac screams.

Stiles stumbles a step back. “What?” he whispers.

Isaac runs a hand through his hair. “I want you to stay alive,” he mumbles. “Stiles.”

“I… I don’t…” Stiles shakes his head confused. “What do you –“

“Stiles,” Isaac whispers. “Do you not realize how close you came to death?”

“Of course I do,” Stiles says.

“Seconds, Stiles,” Isaac continues.

“I know!”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

“You were so close. Lydia was screaming, I was screaming. Deaton couldn’t throw the power until that very second. Had he not been able to throw it just then you would have… You would have…”

“Shot myself,” Stiles whispers.

Isaac winces as if Stiles has physically punched him and Stiles wants to reach out and touch him gently but he doesn’t.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Stiles,” Isaac begs.

Their eyes meet.

“I can’t be her replacement,” Stiles whispers, tears in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“Stiles –“

“I know how it must be. I know what happened to her, goddammit do I know. But I can’t –“

“This has nothing to do with her!”

“Seriously?”

Isaac sighs. “Okay. The thought of you dying… I can’t explain it. Maybe if she – maybe if she hadn’t… well, maybe I wouldn’t have been so…” he sighs. “I don’t want you to die, okay? The thought of losing you… it kills me.”

Stiles wants to cry.

“You are not her replacement.” Isaac steps closer to Stiles. “I just don’t want to lose me.”

“Then why do you leave?” Stiles asks. “I can’t have you talking about moving all the time. It hurts.”

“I don’t know how to deal with things,” Isaac whispers.

“You have to,” Stiles whispers back. “You just have to.”

Isaac reaches out and touches Stiles’ cheek. He moves closer. Their eyes meet again. None of them says anything anymore. They are looking at one another. They cannot look away. Then Stiles reaches forward until his lips meets Isaac’s. They kiss slowly, lips dancing and breath mingling.

“I can’t have you leaving,” Stiles whispers against Isaac’s mouth. “Promise me.”

“I promise you.” Isaac kisses his nose. “You are not Allison.”

“I am not Allison,” Stiles agrees.

“That’s good,” Isaac whispers. “I want _you_.”

Stiles smiles shyly. Then he swallows hard. “I’m not okay.”

Isaac kisses his tears away. “That’s okay,” Isaac whispers. “You will be.”

“Breaking point,” Stiles whispers.

“What?” Isaac asks as he wraps his arms around Stiles.

“Nothing,” the human answers. “I will be.”

“Good.”

None of them moves. They just stay like that, in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom. Stiles thinks about sleep and he thinks about nightmares. He also thinks about how Isaac is right; he will be okay, he just needs get pass his breaking point somehow. He looks into Isaac’s eyes. Clear blue and mesmerizing. Beautiful and terrifying. He will be okay. They will both be okay and he will not be Allison’s replacement.

Isaac begins to travel kisses down Stiles’ throat and the human moans low in his throat.

“I have an idea,” the werewolf whispers.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah.”

“Does it involve a bed?”

“Yes.”

“Does it involve less clothe?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

Isaac pulls Stiles with him towards the bed. Their lips meet and they kiss as if their lives depend on it. Stiles thinks about Fernando’s pack of hybrids. He thinks about whether or not they will ever find them again. He thinks about how he has to tell his father that, apparently, Isaac actually is his boyfriend. He should also thank Scott. And probably apologize to his pack. He thinks about –

Then he stops thinking because Isaac rolls them around so Stiles is on his back, the werewolf hovering above him with a wicked smile on his face. Stiles laughs because he suddenly feels weightless. He leans up and kisses Isaac again because he can. Then he falls back down on the bed and enjoys the way his boyfriend trails kisses down his skin.

He is okay.

He _will_ be okay.

They will both be okay.


End file.
